Male Retaliation
by The Better Side
Summary: Who would have guessed that a spiteful decision made in the past would lead to waking up in a dark room occupied by dripping water, two men and a gun?


I warn you beforehand: This story is completely random and crack worthy, haha!

Disclaimer: Oh you know.

* * *

**Male Retaliation  
**

* * *

He awoke to a dim light.

His eyes fluttered open tiredly, his ears picked up the faint sound of dripping water and a nearly inaudible groan squeezed from between his slightly ajar lips. He blinked his sore eyes slowly, trying to grasp solid images instead of the fading, blurry objects he saw now. A dull throb pulsated on the right on his skull and the numbness of his body muddled his attempts at trying to move.

Where was he?

His vision cleared and he found himself focusing on an empty couch across from him.

And it was upside down.

Two figures came into view. Shady, murky shadows that sent the first jolt of fear coursing through his sweating body. Suddenly, his sense returned full blast in a rush of colors and sound. The dripping water became louder; maybe right beside him. The pain in his forehead increased, causing him to groan again. Or, at least try. His moan was muffled and lost in the fabric that was pulled tightly against his mouth. He felt the ropes tied around his chest and legs. Felt the blood gushing into his forehead. His eyes widened and he started to hyperventilate.

Where the hell was he!?

The figures became clearer but all he could make out was their legs and feet. That fact made gave him a sudden realization: he was hanging upside down.

One wore blue jeans with a hole in the knee along with messy tennis shoes. The other had on cargo pants that were stuffed vicariously into tall, black combat boots.

He tried to scream, tried to struggle but to no avail.

The tennis shoe feet shuffled closer and he could see the weapon twirling around in the lowered hand.

A gun.

It pressed coldly against his neck and he felt beads of sweat collect at his crown.

"You've been an deceitful man, Dickie Orr." A man's voice. Tight, restrained, angry.

Dickie wanted to cry. Where was he!? Who were these people? How did they know him!? What was going on? He tried to scream again, tried to break free of his bindings but it wasn't working. His headache was escalating and he was quite sure that he had just soiled himself.

The combat boots stepped forward in a single, graceful stomp.

The gun relaxed and then suddenly, it was lifted off his skin. Dickie breathed a sigh of relief.

"Oh Christ, he pissed himself." The same voice from before exclaimed in disgust. Dickie closed his eyes and tried, tried hard, to place the voice. To figure out who it belonged to. It sounded familiar. He had heard it before, god damn it, he _knew_ he had. Yet the face behind the voice was lost to Dickie at the moment. Probably because pain and fear were drilling into his brain.

"Not surprising." A second man's voice entered the air, booming off the walls in a silky smooth tone that contrasted with the other's vicious one greatly.

Then the fabric around Dickie's mouth was taken off. He sucked in a huge, wild breath of air and let it out shakily.

But, the moment of relief only lasted for...well, a _moment_. Because the gun was back at his neck and he froze. He tried to twist his neck, to catch a glimpse of the unidentified men but couldn't do it. Not with the gun pressing in hard and pain vibrating harshly through his head, clouding his eyes.

"Tell me Dickie, how many girls have you _fucked_?" The rougher sounding one was talking now. He sounded like his teeth were clenched.

Dickie glanced around frantically. He opened his mouth but nothing was coming out.

"I asked you a question!" The gun was forced into his neck more forcibly and he let out a squeal of pain.

"I don't know." Dickie said hoarsely, panic tightening his throat. He tried for the third time to struggle free but nothing once more. A line of stinging was trailing up his arms, legs and chest and he knew that it must have been the ropes digging into his skin.

"You don't know? Haha." The gun eased up. "Well then, tell me, how many women have you married and _cheated_ on?"

It was then when Dickie started to see where this was heading. He closed his eyes and muttered, "Only one."

There was a laugh. Not a psychotic one but a light chuckle. An amused one. Dickie bit his lip to keep it from trembling.

"What was her name?"

Dickie froze.

"Dickie?"

No answer.

The sound of the gun cocking back echoed in his ear.

"What was her name, Orr?"

"Stephanie." He croaked out again.

The tennis shoe stomped and the man laughed. "That's her."

"Wha-What do you want with me? I got money. I can give you money!"

The smooth voice was back. Chuckling. "No, thanks. We don't need any of it."

"Then-What!? What do you want!?" Even as Dickie cried this frantically, he was already knew what they wanted. Random people didn't kidnap you, mention your ex-wife and then demand money. They wanted revenge, it sounded like. They wanted to show him a lesson. Punish him for his sins, all that bullshit.

But who the hell were they!?

Hit men! Dickie's eyes widened a bit at the realization. _Of course_. That brown haired bitch had hired hit men to come and kill him. Well, he knew one or two things about dealing dirty. With newfound courage, Dickie exclaimed, "Whatever that whore Stephanie is paying you, I'll pay you more."

There was a moment of silence where time seemed to stop. Dickie waited for their reactions with a smirk. He knew what they'd do. Dirty bastards always went for the money. Idiots.

What he didn't expect was the laughter that broke the silence. Deep, loud guffawing from one and soft chuckles from the other. Dickie's smirk faded and transformed into a wide gape. By now his head was close to bursting and he felt like he might pass out.

"He thinks we're hit men." Laughed one.

"Understandable, I suppose." The smooth voice stated. He spoke evenly but the amusement in his tone was evident.

"Not only that but he was trying to strike us a deal."

"Unbelievable."

At that, Dickie snapped. He felt white hot fury boil his blood and clenched his teeth. It didn't matter from this point. He figured he was going to die no matter what. That didn't mean he'd go down like a bitch though. These sons of bitches were going to feel his wrath.

"You'll never get away with this, do you hear me, assholes!? You're both a bunch of filthy, lying muthafuckers! I bet everyone is already looking for me anyway! And Oh-ho-ho, I can not WAIT until the cops come and take your sorry asses to jail! You won't be getting out until the year 6078! Fucking pricks! Why I have half-"

His rant was cut off by a sudden weight lifted off and he went freefalling onto the cold, floor. He groaned, rubbed at his forehead that had brunt most of the fall and glanced up only to see the two men staring down at him.

His eyes widened to the size of basketballs when he realized he was also staring down the barrel of a gun.

Before the trigger was squeezed, Dickie caught a scant sight of a brown skinned man with a cap over his head and a man with a mask on and the eye holes cut out revealing two brown pools blazing angrily.

"Hurting Stephanie wasn't your wisest choice." The brown skinned male grunted.

"Neither was calling us cowards." The masked man growled.

Then a gunshot resounded and everything went black.

*************

Joe Morelli stared down at Dickie; sprawled across the warehouse floor, shook his head and then pulled the mask off of his head. He turned to the man beside him, the one dressed in all black and combat boots and smirked. "You know, you could have at least wore a mask."

Ranger shrugged; shoulders lifting a fraction. "Unnecessary. It's not like he'll go tell anyone I was here. That is;_ if_ he recognized me."

Morelli returned his gun to the waistband of his jeans. "Man. We didn't even get to the good part." He sighed and led the way out into the warm, morning air.

"I think we got to him." Ranger's lips twitched.

"Yeah." Joe put his hands in his pockets and rocked back on his heels, grinning. "How long do you think it's gonna take him to figure out I didn't really shoot him?"

Ranger turned to stare at the rising sun. "Whenever he wakes up, most likely."

"This is between just us, right?" Morelli's eyebrows rose.

"Classified." He agreed.

With that, the two men went their separate ways; Joe heading towards his town car and Ranger to his black, Rangeman Porsche.

So what was the lesson here, folks?

Never, _ever_, mess with Stephanie Plum. Because, no matter how far away you lived or how long ago it was, they'd push back their differences for the time being and find you.

And they'd avenge her name.

* * *

Probably the weirdest, most random fanfic I've ever wrote in my life. Just no point whatsoever. Haha.

Reviews are appreciated! And I hope you enjoyed ^_^


End file.
